Time and Again

book somewhere that would give her the information so that she could analyze it. She didn't want to feel without being able to list logical reasons why. Daydreaming about love and romance was one thing.
    Experiencing it was something else altogether.
    This wasn't like her.
    With a long sigh, she pushed away from the desk and folded her legs under her. Her eyes still on the screen, she propped her elbows on her knees and braced her chin on her fisted hands. She wasn't in love, she told herself. It had been a knee-jerk reaction to the intensity of the moment. People didn't really fall in love that quickly. They could be attracted, of course, even strongly attracted. For love, though, other factors had to be mixed in.
    Common ground and common interests, Libby decided. That made good, solid sense to her. How could she be in love with Cal when the only interest he had that she knew about was flying? And eating, she added with a reluctant smile.
    An understanding of each other's feelings, goals, temperaments. Surely that was vital to love. How could she be in love when she didn't understand Caleb Hornblower in the least? His feelings were a mystery to her, his goals had never been discussed, and his temperament seemed to change by the hour.
    He was troubled. A frown brought her brows together when she thought of the look that she so often saw in his eyes. Sometimes he made her think of a man who had taken a wrong turn on the freeway and ended up in a strange, foreign land.
    Troubled, yes, but he was also just plain trouble, she reminded herself, trying to keep her compassion from outweighing her common sense. His personality was too strong, his charm too smooth, his confidence too high. She didn't have room in her neatly ordered life for a man like Cal. He would, simply by existing, cause chaos.
    She heard him come in the kitchen door, and her body braced automatically. Just as her pulse speeded up and her blood ran faster. Automatically.
    Disgusted with herself, she scooted her chair back to her desk. She was going to work. In fact, she was going to work straight through to midnight, and she wasn't going to give Cal another thought. She caught herself gnawing on her thumbnail again. "Damn it, who is Caleb Hornblower?" The last thing she'd expected from her muttered question was an answer. The tinny, disembodied voice had her jolting. She grabbed the edge of her desk to keep from spilling out of her chair, then stared, openmouthed, at her computer screen. Hornblower, Caleb, Captain ISF, retired. "Oh, my God." With a hand to her throat, she shook her head. "Now just hold on," she whispered. Holding.
    It wasn't possible, Libby told herself as she pressed an unsteady hand to her mouth. She had to be hallucinating. That was it. Emotional stress, overwork and the lack of a good night's sleep were causing her to hallucinate. Closing her eyes, she took three deep breaths. But when she opened them again, the words were still on the screen.
    "What the devil is going on here?" Information requested and relayed. Is additional data required? With an unsteady hand, she pushed aside some of the papers on her desk and uncovered Cal's watch. She would have sworn the voice she had heard had come from it. No, it just wasn't possible. Using a fingertip, she traced a thread-slim transparent wire that ran from his watch to the computer's drive.
    "What kind of game is he playing?" "Five hundred twenty games are available on this unit. Which would you prefer?
    "Libby?" Caleb stood just inside the doorway, thinking fast. There was no use berating himself for being careless. In fact, he wondered if subconsciously he'd wanted to put himself in a position where he would be forced to tell her the truth. But now, when she turned, he wasn't certain that would be good for either of them. She wasn't just frightened, she was furious.
    "All right, Hornblower, I want you to tell me exactly what's going on here."
    He tried an easy, cooperative smile. "Where?"
    "Right here, damn it." She jabbed a finger at the machine.
    "You'd know more about that than I would. It's your work."
    "I want an explanation, and I want it now."
    He crossed to her. A quick scan of the screen had a smile tugging at his mouth. So she'd wanted to know who he was. There was some comfort in knowing she was as confused by him as he was by her-and as interested.
    "No, you don't."
    He said it quietly, and he would have taken her hand if she hadn't batted his away.
    "I not only want one, I